The light at the end.

For those of you who have followed our story, you know this has been a long and difficult year. A year full of disappointments and challenges, but a year also filled with blessings and victories. At every turn, there are ten reasons to celebrate with an overwhelming joy, and ten reasons to cower in fear and discouragement. 

Yet, we press on. Into the unknown.

In the middle of May, we learned of some staffing changes at our church, positions being hired for, positions still needed, positions being eliminated (mainly, mine), bleak summer attendance trends and their effect on giving, and an organizational matrix that didn't support my position to begin with... in short, our life was changing dramatically. Best friends, our plans for the future, kids at church our children were supposed to grow up with, an entire church we loved, was fading like a mist. A stipend position was hinted at with an upcoming church plant with potential for growth in the future, but there was too much pain and too little sense of security to continue. As I drove across town that evening to help my wife gain the composure to drive home from a cupcake shop she was at when she heard the news, our world was extremely dark. Days later I lost my car, leaving us a family of six with only one mode of transportation. Days after that, we discovered that we are going to be welcoming another baby into our family. (Talk about a roller coaster of emotions!) The outlook was beautiful and bleak all at the same time. I will always look back on those days with horror and fondness. They were terrifying and painful, but they were some of the sweetest days of closeness I've ever experienced with my wife. In countless ways, it bonded us in a powerful way. I have no doubt, she has my back and believes in me.

As we said goodbye to our church, grieved the loss, and fixed our sights on a horizon of unknown possibilities, we held each other more tightly and ran forward blindly.

A friend at the time, in an attempt at encouraging me, reminded me that the night is always darkest before the dawn. And that pain lasts for the night, but joy comes with the morning. He pointed me to the fact that my office wall was lined with photos of my beautiful family and ministry I loved. He reminded me that I once knew great loss in my life, but God has always rebuilt and restored. He reminded me that this is just one more season where things seemed dark, but that there will be more photos on future walls that will tell the rest of this story. 

It has now been six months since all of this happened. I have had a few job leads, but nothing that has developed into a job or a ministry I can settle into. But here's the thing:

The past few weeks I have begun to see that dawn breaking. And at the foundation of my life, everything has changed for the good. I am more passionate about the local church than I have ever been, more content as a husband and father than I have ever been, more effective as a manager of my life than I have ever been, and more thankful for the things I have than I have ever been. Though my destination is still unknown, I've never been more full of joy. And though I have as many reasons to fear as I have ever had, I am overflowing with a courage to take on and completely own whatever I find once the sun rises again. My wife and I are stronger and more united than ever, and as we are beginning to feel our son move inside her, we can't help but see our life as pregnant with new life, ready to spring forth with endless possibilities.

Last night I had dinner with my boys. Afterward, we went to a park. I knew my two boys had been there many times, but Carter had never been there before. This park is thick with trees. In Carter's mind, we were on a courageous adventure through "the woods". As we trekked through the wilderness, with any remaining light of day shielded by the trees towering above, he nervously interrogated us about the dangers of snakes and bears, spiders and wolves. The traffic on the road parallel to us, the occasional beer bottle fossil, and remains of chip bags left over from picnics reminded me that we were right in the middle of civilization, but in his mind, we were journeying where no man had been before.

As we neared the end of our adventure, we came up to a huge drain pipe that went under the road, to the continuation of the park on the other side. My boys charged ahead with their hiking sticks, and Carter (always the one to do his research before making decisions), stopped at the opening of this intimidating mouth of darkness, looked up at me, and told me that "as long as we can see the light, we will know exactly where to go." So, we took our first careful steps. I could feel his fear present in this long echo chamber of the unknown. As we slowly walked through this tunnel, he found his voice, and his speed, and ran ahead the light of my iPhone's flashlight. He stayed close behind his brothers as they charged ahead into this place they had been before. 

By the time we got to the end of this tunnel of darkness, I discovered their positions had changed. Carter was now leading the way. Eli and Silas right behind him. I snapped this picture as we got to the end of the tunnel because this moment was so strikingly similar to the journey I have felt myself on this past few months. Carter reminded me of my own adventure this year.

Darkness can be paralyzing when you don't know what's right in front of you or beneath you. But a funny thing happens when you can still see some light ahead.

Even when you can't see where your feet are landing, your gaze calibrates to a destination further ahead. The place where the light is. If you look directly beneath you, it can be too hard to move. Even too hard to breathe. In some ways, this is still our situation. But as we have learned this year, when you look far enough ahead, where the light is, you move forward. You pick up speed. Courage rises. And you find your voice.

The dawn is breaking and the sky seems to be getting a lighter shade of black. God has blessed me with a car (given to us just this month). I have had the opportunity to serve churches every week. We have now named our unborn son. Our marriage is stronger than ever. And the light at the end of the tunnel is getting closer.

Keep looking further up ahead.

As long as you can see the light, you will know exactly where to go.